


Who is Left?

by Yeah_Toast



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Gun Kink, Implied Sexual Content, Loss, M/M, POV Sebastian Moran, Tigers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeah_Toast/pseuds/Yeah_Toast
Summary: "War is not determined by who is right, only by who is left."---Sebastian's journey from soldier to Moriarty to loss.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Kudos: 15





	Who is Left?

When he first heads off to war, he’s a man by the laws of his people. It’s not until he sees the horrors of war, till he has experienced violence first hand that he understands he wasn’t a man at all, just a scared little boy. When he finds himself wrist deep in his friend's belly, trying to hold him together until someone, anyone, is available to help him, that’s when he finally understands. 

He kisses the forehead of the corpse that had once been his friend, his mentor, and he reaches for his gun. 

He does not remember how many he killed that day, but he remembers the joy he found in doing so. It had been different than his work as a sniper, bringing a hotter, more visceral reaction. He remembers the rage that controlled his actions, the way he, upon running out of bullets, had merely switched to his knife and began to take men down in close range. For all that he had training for it, nothing had prepared him for the hot gush of blood over his knuckles, the scent of his enemies in his nose. Nothing had prepared him for the feral enjoyment it brings him. 

Working as a sniper is different. It was more distant, though no less fulfilling. Still, the fact remains that as a sniper he savors his kills like a fine wine, storing the memories nearly. 

Later, when he wakes up in the hospital, a new bullet hole decorating his shoulder, Sebastian is told he killed twenty-seven enemy combatants on his own, and that he himself only went down when their back up arrived. Then he has formal discharge papers shoved in his hands, and he is sent home. 

They claim it’s because of a medical disqualification, but Sebastian sees the look in the eyes of the General who tells him, and he knows the truth. They’re scared of him, why he is and what he could become. 

Their fear doesn’t bother him; he’s known since he was young that he’s a monster. He’s never really felt anything outside of the emotions brought on violence, and he’s never quite sure what to do to hmm. If anything, he pities them for not understanding. He’s a man now, forged in death and blood. 

It’s the aimlessness that haunts him; dogging him from the arid sands of desert back to the cold, rain of England. There he doesn’t know what to be, only what not to be. He’s not a Colonel anymore, not really, and he refuses to return to his former home. He doesn’t know where that leaves him though, and he wonders. 

It’s a surprise to him as well when he tends up in India and finds a passion outside of the military. He’d never thought of big game hunting before, but as he tracks tigers through the jungles he discovers purpose. 

He wonders if he is the only one who finds killing this easy. 

Then he is half mauled, almost dead at the hands of a tiger. He takes the beast down with him, but not without serious injury. The scars will always mar his chest, opposite of his bullet wound scar, and his nipple will never return, but he brings the beast’s pelt back with him and that has to count for something. 

He drapes the pelt over his bed, but he never makes it back into the world of big game hunting. Instead he is approached by a man who has heard tale of his talent, both in his former career and with the tiger, and wants to know if he’ll put it to good use. Eventually, the man makes his point, and Sebastian is hired to kill his first man outside of the military. 

He sits on a rooftop blocks away and takes the shot, just to prove he can. By the time the police arrive to canvas his blind, Sebastian is long gone. 

He returns to England with the knowledge that he is still a killer. He breaks out his rifle, gets it ready for work and disappears into the more seedy bars. He’s well acquainted with them despite his refined upbringing, having often escaped here in his youth, before the military would take him. Now though he’s treated differently. 

As he enters the room, men part before him sensing the danger that hugs his bones. He watches men eye him, trying to place him and the scars that litter his body. They seem to recognize that he is a fighter, one of them, and yet they cannot place him and that frightens them. It’s several days before someone approaches him, and by then the urge to hurt is boiling him from the inside out. 

“Sebastian Moran,” a woman asks, sitting across from him. 

“Who’s asking,” Sebastian wonders, trying not to show how eager he is for her to give him something, anything to do. 

The woman smiles, and Sebastian feels a shiver of excitement creep up his spine. “Does it matter? We don’t need to know one another to establish that you need work and I’m offering.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing big at first,” the woman hums. “You have virtually no reputation here for all that I’ve seen your army records, you have to earn better jobs. But we could start building that reputation, particularly if you agree to come and protect my girls.”

Sebastian agrees. 

He works for Irene for three months, guarding her girls from harm. But, for all that he occasionally gets to crack the skulls of bad customers, it isn’t enough. He finds himself back at the same dive bar Irene found him in more and more as time passes. Eventually, she finds him there once again.

“This isn’t what you want to be doing, is it Sebastian?”

He just takes another drag of his cigarette.

“You’ve done good work for me, and the girls always felt comfortable around you. For that, I’ll put out the word that you’re accepting business, as well as your prowess with a rifle. My recommendation will get you a start, but, Sebastian, you better be good.”

Irene is true to her word, and the very next day Sebastian gets a call. It’s a russain man, no name, who offers him a chance to prove that he’s worth the attention. They set up a meeting, though Sebastian knows he won’t actually meet the man ordering the hit, where he is promised half of the money upfront as well as more information on his target. 

When Sebastian arrives, there is a tall, lean blond man who eyes him warily. A bag of cash exchanges hands, and Sebastian is informed of what exactly is expected of him. The challenge of it sets his blood alight, it's been too long since he’s had reason to hold his rifle, and now he has to hit a moving target in the middle of the day.

The next day finds Sebastian on a rooftop perch. His target is not expected for another hour or two, but he learned long ago that one should never expect the enemy to follow a schedule. To do so would be foolishness, and Sebastian needs for this to go right.

When his target appears, just a tiny speck in the distance, Sebastian takes a deep breath and pulls the trigger. As he watches the man drop, blood pouring out of what used to be his head, people running around him screaming, a smile curves on his lips. He loves a job well done.

When he goes to pick up his cash, the blond man is gone, replaced by a heavyset man with salt and pepper hair. Sebastian estimates him to be late forties, and when the man speaks, places his voice as his initial employer.

“I am Adamovich,” The man greets him. “And you, Moran, have my attention. Not many men could make that shot, even less could get away with it.”

Sebastian leaves that meeting with the second half of his payment, a retainer to work for Adamovich, as well as permission to work on the side as long as it doesn’t interfere with the work he does for his new boss.

Two days later, Sebastian is inundated with requests for work. It seems that Adamovich’s word does a lot of good in London. Suddenly, everyone wants him to kill for them. He starts with the smaller requests and payments, working his way up the chain. Though he’s never been a killer for hirer before, he knows that he wants to build up to the big clients. Adamovich is a big name of course, but Sebastian doesn’t want him to be the only one. 

For the next few years, Sebastian builds up his clientele and gets his name out there. He’s well known for his abilities with a rifle, and now that he has more attention people look at his history with Irene, hiring him as a bodyguard for meetings they suspect will go badly. He tends to turn down the bodyguard gigs unless his employer is relatively sure that violence will break out, but in those cases he always accepts. It does him good to bloody his fists.

Then Adamovich asks him to come as a guard to a meeting. There’s nothing odd about it, he’s acted as his body guard on multiple occasions, saved his life almost as many times. He comes with only knives strapped to his person, he’d been forbidden from bringing a knife, as well as his body limber and ready for a fight. When he joins Adamovich in his car, the man looks nervous. 

“What’s going on?” Sebastian asks. He’s never seen the man look like this before.

“We’re meeting a business partner.” Adamovich informs him, but he doesn’t share anything else.

When they arrive at the docks, Sebastian discreetly rests a hand on his gun. He has a bad feeling, as though even getting out of the car is a bad idea, but when he tries to tell Adamovich the man simply shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter, leaving would offend him.”

They get out of the car and enter a warehouse, and the hair on the nape of his neck stands up. They’re being watched, Sebastian notes, a sniper on the catwalk.

“Adamovich!” a man greets them with a posh London accent, one that takes Sebastian back to his own childhood. He’s tall with slicked back brown hair with too much product, and a nice suit. He doesn’t look like much, but the men around him look at him with fear, especially the little man there to take notes; Sebastian feels his skin crawl.

“Mr. Moriarty,” his own boss greets the man. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”

“You can explain a few things to me.” The man hums. “You see, I don’t recall telling you to move my latest shipment of guns, yet I cannot seem to find them or the money you owe me. Why’s that, Adamovich?”

Adamovich sweats lightly, stuttering out excuses Sebastian doesn’t listen to. He knows already that the man has taken more than his fair share, the man has a habit of doing so though this is the first time he’s ever appeared to regret it. Sebastian focuses his attention on the three men with the man called Moriarty. They all seem professional, as though they’ve been fighting for years, but their fear of their boss can be used against them.

He flicks his eyes to Moriarty, noting that the man's every word sounds like a line, rehearsed. He wonders how long it will be before he reaches the end of his monologue and tells his snipers to fire.

Moriarty sighs, “No more excuses, Adamovich. I want this taken care of.”

He turns away, his thugs following him, and Sebastian sees a slight shift from the corner of his eye. Before he can stop to think anything of it, he leaps into action, shoving Adamovich out of the way. 

A crack rings through the air, and Sebastian feels an explosion of pain. Right shoulder, a graze, he notes, It went past him, hit Adamovich in the arm. Then he hauls Adamovich over his left shoulder, and makes a break for the door opposite Moriarty. The sniper shoots again, but Sebastian is already running in strange stops and starts in no particular pattern, preventing the sniper from knowing where he will be next. 

If the sniper had any intelligence, he would just set up for the door, where Sebastian will have no choice but to go through eventually. But the crack of a shot, and the rising of dust at his heels seems to imply that his opponent hasn’t thought that far ahead. He’s almost to the door when another man appears, this one muscle bound and aching for a fight. Assessing his options, Sebastian makes a break for the wall nearest the sniper. He leaves Adamovich there, certain that the sniper can’t shoot at that angle, and he faces his new opponent.

He charges at the man, hoping to get close enough, quickly enough, that the sniper won’t have the chance to fire at him. 

He’s too slow, and receives a new graze. This one on the hip, but now he’s too busy to pay attention to it. 

His opponent is good. Quick, violent strikes. But Sebastian trained in her Majesty’s Army, he’s killed more men with less. Every hit that lands is powerful, and he can see his opponent tiring, but he’s bleeding, and his opponent has dug a thumb into his gunshot wound.

He can feel his vision whiting out around the edges, but he tugs his knife free of his boots and shoves it up into the other man's ribs. He jerks back. Hands coming up to grab at the knife wound. It’s a mistake, one Sebastian takes advantage of. Quickly, he holds his knife to the man’s throat, hoping to use him as a human shield until he gets back to Adamovich. 

The sniper isn’t as foolish as Sebastian assumes though. He fires anyway, and the bullet goes straight through his shield and into his torso. He can feel his ribs break, and the bullet stops, still inside of him. Grunting and panting, he throws the man away from him and sprints towards his boss.

He lifts him to his feet, and orders him to run to the door. “I’ll be right behind you, providing some coverage from the sniper.”

They reach the door without incident, Sebastian suspects that the man he was fighting had died from the sniper’s shot, but Adamovich panics, fumbling with the door handle. His failure to open the door costs him though, and a bullet tears through his chest. There is no time to check and see if he survived though, so Sebastian rips the door open and pulls the man with him. 

They reach the car, and Sebastian throws him into the passenger seat. The driver is dead, throat slit, so Sebastian throws his body to the ground and slides into his seat. They drive for a few minutes, breaking every speed law known to man, until Sebastian pulls over into a copse of trees, and assesses his boss’s condition. 

His breathing is unsteady, and Sebastian quickly discovers his collapsing lung. Luckily, Sebastian was trained in field dressing wounds, and he’s able to create a temporary decompression with his knife and a pen. With that settled, he looks over his own wounds. He’ll survive, but only if he’s treated soon. The torso shot is putting him in danger particularly from blood loss, and the bullet still lodged inside of him. He binds his wounds with scraps from his shirt and takes off again for Adamovish’s personal doctor.

“There is nothing to be done for him,” The doctor announces as he looks over Adamovich. The wound is fatal.”

“Well,” Sebastian hums. “Shit.”

He allows the doctor to patch him up, then he disappears to a safe house that none of his contacts know to associate with him. He hasn’t used it, not since long before he was deployed, but his father’s money still goes into its upkeep. No one will think to look for him here, in the upper echelons of society. Despite his public service records, with the exception of Adamovich and Irene, no one had ever looked into what he did before he was a criminal. Even then, only Irene had connected him to his father, though she knew they were no longer in contact.

He thinks about staying there, not leaving until he’s fully healed, but with Adamovich dead he has a reputation to protect. Unless he gets out there to defend it, all kinds of rumors will swirl about him being unable to protect one man.

Two days after Adamovich dies, Sebastian goes back to work. He shows up for a meeting, planned a week ago and watches the man’s brows creep high on his face

“So it’s true,” Luterfye whispers. “You’re alive.”

“Yes. Is that really so shocking?” If people are surprised he’s alive there couldn’t have been much faith in him. He only had two opponents, albeit one was a sniper. 

Luterfye shakes his head, “You don’t understand. Nobody crosses Moriarty and lives.”

“I didn’t cross anybody,” Sebastian rumbles. It’s true, his reputation is built on efficiency and loyalty and crossing anyone would ruin it. “I just did my job.”

“Moriarty won’t see it like that.”

“We aren’t here about Moriarty.” Sebastian snaps. “What do you need done?”  
“I’m sorry,” Luterfye tells him. “I’m no longer in need of your services. I can’t risk incurring Moriarty’s wrath.”

His next few meetings go similarly, a fact which irks Sebastian to no end. He’s worked hard to build his clientele, and now he’s being blacklisted by a man he’d never even heard of before the other day. The urge to find Moriarty and wrap his hands around his neck intensifies, but Sebastian stops himself, remembering the fear in men’s eyes as they tell him about the most dangerous man in London. 

He does his research instead, travelling to Ireland to interview people who had known the man in his youth, digging up old murders, ones that could have been Moriarty’s start. They all paint the picture of a vicious man, one prone to wild swings from one direction to another. A man who can’t be trusted.

Sebastian thinks of the tall man in the nice suit, and he doubts.

The next time he gets work, Sebastian is too grateful to be cautious. Financially, he’s fine. He charges enough for sniper hits that he’ll never have to work again if he doesn’t want to, but mentally is another story. It's been a month, and he’s fully healed with the exception of his ribs, though those are significantly better, and he’s bored. Lounging about has never been his thing, and now when he thinks about killing his body trembles with need. He wonders if it’s possible to be addicted to it, the thrill it brings.

“Sebastian,” his employer greets him. “Come along now, the meeting starts in a few moments.”

They enter a warehouse, Sebastian going in first to ensure that the coast is clear for the man. It isn’t. Two men immediately pounce on him, one holding him down as the other reaches for a needle. Sebastian hisses, kicking up with his legs and throwing the man with the needle off balance. Then, he turns his attention to the man holding him down.

His arms are still pinned, so Sebastian lunges his head forward. He grips the inside of the man’s wrist in his teeth and he bites down, gripping tendons and ligaments, and pulling. There’s a gush of blood and the man lets go. Sebastian spits. He crawls to his knees, but the man with the needle slams into him.

Before he can respond, the world goes black. 

Sebastian wakes up tied to a chair. 

Hissing under his breath, the fight had jostled his ribs, Sebastian takes in his surroundings. He’s in the same warehouse that Adamovich met Moriarty in that final time, which means that if he escapes, he knows the quickest route back into the city slums. He’s had plans to go to ground since Luterfye informed him the Moriarty would come from him, and now all he needs is to escape this warehouse and wait it out. Afterall, crimelords rise and fall. Besides, there are a few places outside of London where his reputation is known. He could rebuild there until he could return.

James Moriarty enters the room, flanked by the same entourage as last time: two bodyguards, and one nervous accountant type. 

“You’ve been causing me a lot of trouble,” Moriarty hisses, approaching Sebastian. ‘I don’t appreciate it.”

He speaks the same way he did last time. Cold and practiced. Monologuing.

“I don’t want to talk with you,” Sebastian informs him.

The man stops cold. “Excuse me?” 

His voice is different now, a hint of confusion. Sebastian hides a smile, his hands working to untie the knots binding them. He’s knocked the man off script. 

“I said I don't want to talk to you. You’re not in charge here.”

The man stutters, sweat appearing on his brow, and Sebastian knows he was right. It had been a gamble, he hadn’t been able to find any photos of James Moriarty as an adult, but the pictures of the boy in his teen years had suggested he wouldn’t look like this. The way he had spoken hadn’t aligned with his profile either.

“Who do you think is in charge if not me?” The man asks, and Sebastian allows his eyes to trail over his entourage. He discounts all of the thugs instantly, but his eyes catch on the small accountant-like man. The cheap suit and meek demeanor wouldn’t suit the man if it is Moriarty, but for all he knows he’s dealing with a chameleon. 

Sebastian simply shrugs. Even if he is right, he won’t draw attention to the right man. He could be putting himself in more danger if he’s right.

“What happened to Lutterfye then? I assume that he sold me out?”

The false Moriarty’s eyes dart toward the accountant before he can stop himself, and Sebastian knows. He continues to look straight at the imposter as he speaks.

“You can ask your record keeper if you need to. Afterall, I doubt your boss told you.”

The accountant taps his pen against his thigh and suddenly the imposter is holding himself high again, “Boys, go wait outside. I wanna deal with him myself.”

The thugs leave, and the two Moriartys remain, both real and fake.

There’s a moment of silence before Moriarty speaks. “He knows, Redding. You can drop the act.”

Redding steps back, and Sebastian finally takes in Moriarty. The way he’s holding himself has changed completely, and even in the cheap suit he wears as a disguise, Sebastian can see the power he holds. The man is confident, and, more importantly, deadly.

Moriarty pulls a knife out, and seats himself in Sebastian’s lap. The blade finds a home beneath his chin, and Sebastian slows his work on the knots behind his back.

“You’ve been naughty,” Moriarty says. “Hiding from daddy. Then, when I finally get word of you it’s from my hometown. I don’t like people looking into me, you know.”

Sebastian scowls. “I don’t like people interfering in my work.”

Moriarty laughs, and suddenly the knife is lower, against his genitals. “I don’t like it either, and Sebastian, you’ve been a real pain lately.”

There’s something about it, the pout on Moriarty’s face, and the knife to his dick. He feels his blood rushing south. Seemingly, Moriarty notices it too, because he gives Sebastian’s penis a gentle tap with the side of his blade before jumping off of his lap.

“You said all that nasty stuff about Redding not being me in front of those thugs. They aren’t important enough to know who’s really me. They’ll have to die now.”

“A shame,” Sebastian replies. “But I don’t really care about them.”

“No,” Moriarty hums, face alarmingly close to Sebastian’s own. “You don’t do you. I like you. Let’s change the rules of the game a little bit. You come to work for me, you act as my guard, my sniper, and in return you get to kill and fight much more than you would get anywhere else.”

Sebastian stops to think about it. He’s heard from nearly every source that he asked that Jim Moriarty is vicious and unpredictable. That he’ll turn on you as soon as you make a mistake, but that if you do as he says you’ll reap the benefits. 

He looks at Moriarty, then at Redding and back. “Alright, why not?”

“Perfect.” Moriarty thrills. He wonders around behind Sebastian, running his hands over his chest and shoulders as he does. Then he bends down to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to give you my gun. If you finish freeing yourself and killing everyone except for the two of us before I’m out of the room, the job is yours. If not, well, I’m ever so changeable. The boys might just come back and kill you.”

The gun is cold and heavy in his hands, and Sebastian is unable to stop a grin from ripping across his face. He loves a challenge, and it’s been far too long since he’s had a chance to kill so many at once.

Moriarty trails his hand up his back then down his chest again. It stops it’s journey on his dick, and Sebastian is unable to hide how aroused he is. Moriarty’s smile is feral as he whispers.

“And Sebastian, I do love a little bit of gun play.”

The thugs come back in, and Sebastian takes them and Redding out before Moriarty reaches the door and, in return, Moriarty takes him there on the floor of the warehouse. They leave separately, but Moriarty leaves him directions on where to pick him up from his first day of work tomorrow.

After that, Sebastian quickly falls into routine. He spends his days with Moriarty, acting as his bodyguard unless he has a mission that requires a sniper. At night, he follows Jim home and they fuck furiously. 

Within six months, Sebastian is living with Jim full time. Within a year, they’re actually dating. At home, Jim is almost a normal person, though he is still dark and obsessive. They never say I love you, but Sebastian knows.

That's why when, ten years later, Jim shoots himself in the head, Sebastian has trouble understanding why.


End file.
